


Inverted Dreaming

by Water_Nix



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Realities, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Community: kbl-reversebang, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Water_Nix/pseuds/Water_Nix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of hearing but never seeing, a way to the other side presents itself and Blaine leaps in without even thinking twice. On the other side, Kurt is counting down the days until he can escape, and wishing for a friend. Ultimately the decision lies with Blaine: stay with the source of his longing, or return to his own reality and his own family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inverted Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kurt/Blaine reversebang. Many thanks to Keri for beta reading, and also to Allie, Mardy and Jeanne for being around to read things over and listen to me whine. Love you girls! And Mizu, for the lovely, inspiring art. I hope I did it justice! It was a pleasure to work with you. <3 
> 
> I do not own the song lyrics located within. 
> 
> All art by the lovely mizuirokandeya.

 

Blaine is almost eight years old when they move into the house. He spends his first night in his new room curled into a ball on the bed, the boxes casting creepy shadows across the walls. He hears a faint, far-off crying that makes his heart beat fast and his tummy feel strange, and all he can do is lie on his bed with wide eyes and pretend it isn't there. Blaine is mostly good at pretending, but not on this night.

  
  


He wakes up in the morning with purplish marks under tired eyes and tear tracks dried on his cheeks.

  
  


The crying carries on for many nights – quiet and broken and hollow. Blaine doesn't know where it's coming from, but he wishes he could stop it. Not because it frightens him, though it does, but because whoever is sobbing sounds so utterly heartbroken that he wants them to feel better and not have to cry anymore.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Sometimes Blaine hears music. He recognizes it in parts – a chorus here, a melody there – but most of the time it is unfamiliar. Except, of course, for when it's The Beatles. At those times he can't help but hum along or sing quietly under his breath. Maybe his house is haunted, or maybe he's slowly going crazy, but hearing  _The Long and Winding Road_  tinkling through his ceiling is kind of nice. Especially when it's being sung by The Voice.

  
  


Because sometimes the music is accompanied by singing – a soft, delicate voice like bells that makes Blaine feel strange and haunted and lonely in a way that's different than usual. He imagines it is what angels must sound like, or maybe ghosts. He crawls under the blankets of his bed, huddles in to listen, though it makes him sad and at times afraid. He wonders if the person with the voice of an angel died in his house, maybe right there in his room, and is haunting him now. But if they wanted him to leave, why would they sing so beautifully? Surely they would shriek and throw his things around and leave bloody handprints and old creepy dolls, but instead he gets songs. He supposes that must mean they want him to stay. Maybe the ghost's loneliness is what makes Blaine feel so lonely – thoughts and feelings and despair leeching into him, making him tear up and his eyelids droop and his heart hurt.

  
  


* * *

  
  


At the age of fourteen, Blaine is grown up enough to turn aside the idea of ghosts. He still hears the music, the singing, the crying, and sometimes just talking – the sweet voice he's grown attached to after nearly seven years.

  
  


When he gets home from school one day, tears streaming and nose running, red-faced and shaking from the tauntings, there is something on the end of his bed.

  
  


He spots it as he's peeling off his soiled shirt – condoms filled with grape juice, what geniuses – and he pauses, one arm in and one arm out.

  
  


It's a sheet of stationary – heavy stock, cream with a black damask pattern around the edges. In the centre written in a loopy, black script are the words:

  
  


_Somebody need me too much,  
Somebody know me too well,  
Somebody pull me up short  
And put me through hell  
And give me support  
For being alive,  
Make me alive.  
  
Make me confused,  
Mock me with praise,  
Let me be used,  
Vary my days.  
But alone is alone, not alive.  
  
Somebody crowd me with love,  
Somebody force me to care,  
Somebody make me come through,  
I'll always be there,  
As frightened as you,  
To help us survive  
Being alive._

  
  


It sounds like a song or a poem. Blaine doesn't recognize the writing or the stationary and should have no clue as to where the paper came from. And yet... his eyes flit automatically to the ceiling above.

  
  


There is some sense, something familiar lurking at the back of his mind that he can't seem to place. Sense memory sends his eyes skyward. But which sense? He stares up, reaching out a hand, wishing, not for the first time, for the person behind the voice to come to him. He feels like he needs them. He somehow knows that they could help.

  
  


He makes a decision, one he's been skirting around for years out of fear and a worry that it will be a dead end, and then what? Then what other options will he have? But he has to do it. He needs this person, this boy, and he needs him right now. He steels himself and goes in search of a flashlight, but not before placing the paper safely, reverently, in the drawer of his nightstand.

  
  


He pauses at the entrance to the attic, fear blooming anew in the pit of his stomach. He's considered doing this hundreds of times over the years, but he's never, ever come this close to going through with it. He thinks about the paper again, about the voice. Maybe the person, the boy, behind it has been trying to contact him. If that's the case, he really can't turn back now. He hears the crying in his mind and swallows. Maybe they need each other. Maybe the crying boy is just as beaten down and lonely as Blaine. He takes a deep breath and climbs the rickety ladder into the attic, the beam of his flashlight reflecting off the dust motes and cobwebs and wide, open wooden planks.

  
  


The hanging light bulb doesn't illuminate when he tugs on the chain and he sighs, his pulse racing even faster than before. Of course. But he's up there now and he's not going anywhere. He quickly maps out the house below, triangulating the area above his own bedroom and shuffles over, light unsteady in his hand causing the beams to bounce and sway across the walls and floor.

  
  


He inspects the area. Nothing. Nothing but dust an inch thick and an empty hat box shoved in a corner. With a forlorn sigh, he drops to his knees and runs his hands over the floorboards. They're prickly to the touch and he's about to pull back, mindful of possible splinters, when he feels it.

  
  


Warmth. An area of the floor about three feet wide is  _warm_. It makes his fingers tingle with a buzz like electricity and when he leans down to take a sniff, that's strange as well – metallic and charged, like the air before a thunderstorm. He sits in the dark and dust until the warmth has left the planks of wood and the smell has all but dissipated from the air around him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


By the time Blaine has entered into his junior year of high school, he has grown used to the voice, the music, the strange things that appear out of thin air when he's not at home. He collects them, keeps them in a box under his bed and takes them out sometimes when he's feeling lonely. He never visits the attic again, somehow just knowing it is futile.

  
  


On a day like many others, he comes home humming a song he'd been practising with his choir, feeling good about their prospects at the upcoming competition. When he opens the door to his room he smells it – like ozone, the smell of rain. It's the same scent that permeates his room whenever the little presents are left for him to find.

  
  


He rushes forward, dropping his blazer and bag in a heap on the floor as he goes.

  
  


On the bottom of his bed there is a photograph, faded and tattered at the edges – a small boy laughing with a woman. He lifts it to his nose and takes a deep sniff – like the air before a summer storm, and something else homey and familiar like sunshine and warm bread. On the back there is a loopy scrawl, childish, but still recognizable from the other items he has hidden away beneath his bed. _Kurt and Mom_ , it reads.

  
  


_Kurt_.

  
  


Blaine says the name aloud, lets it dance around in his mouth, shape his lips and lift his tongue to the roof of his mouth over and over again. And that's when he hears it. The singing.

  
  


It's louder than it's ever been, more clear. The voice he's been listening to with rapt attention since moving into this house, this room, it sounds stronger, more assured. Blaine smiles and lifts his face to the ceiling.

  
  


_Blackbird singing in the dead of night..._

  
  


There are lights flickering – rings of light – warm tones of red and orange and yellow, like sparks circling over and over on the plaster above him. He gasps and loses his grip on the photograph, leaving it fluttering to the floor. He reaches upwards without any conscious thought; reaches towards the light, towards the voice. It's getting louder now, clearer, and Blaine's eyes swim with tears at the emotion conveyed in the words, in the soft tenor of the voice. His favourite voice.

  
  


“ _Kurt_ ,” he whispers again, fingertips warmed by the flickering circles of light.

  
  


_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_.

  
  


The light dies out as the song does the same, and Blaine is left, heavy breaths and pounding heart and tears tracking down his cheeks.

  
  


The next night, Blaine could swear he sees the light on his ceiling again, that it wakes him from his slumber, but when he pries open his sleep-encrusted eyes, it's gone.

  
  


*

  
  


On the morning of the show choir sectionals competition when Blaine rushes back to his room for his lucky tie, the rings of light are back, glowing brighter, circling faster than they had been the week before.

  
  


He can hear the voice, which he has begun to refer to as Kurt in his head since the afternoon he found the photograph, speaking to someone, but he can't make out the other side of the conversation. He drags his desk chair over, but decides it's not the sturdiest thing to try and stand on, so he jumps up on the table at the end of his bed.

  
  


He can feel the heat that the rings give off, warm like the sun after a long winter, but he can't quite reach. Cursing under his breath, he jumps down and runs from the room and into his parents' sitting room. He snatches one of the straight-back wooden chairs and carries it away with him.

  
  


His shoulders slump upon entering. The light is gone. He took too long.

  
  


“Blaine, aren't you in a hurry?” his mother asks, coming around the corner still putting on her earrings. “What are you doing with my chair?” She doesn't wait for a response to either question, just touches her dry lips to Blaine's cheek and continues on her way down the hall.

  
  


Blaine glances after her and then walks the rest of the way into his room, placing the chair next to his bed. For later. Just in case.

  
  


He forgets all about his lucky tie.

  
  


*

  
  


Blaine is exhausted after his team's post-win celebration. They'd changed out of their uniforms and had a party at Trent's. It's late; it's been a long day, and the pride and shine from winning is beginning to fade from Blaine's eyes.

  
  


His tired grin disappears very quickly once he sets foot in his bedroom.

  
  


It's been a while since he's heard crying. Especially crying like this – wet sobs, hitching breath, so broken and dejected.

  
  


Blaine's eyes shift quickly to the ceiling, glowing as he knew it would be, had almost known since entering the house. It's the smell, he decides. The smell always gives it away. Only it's even more pungent when the light is there than it is once it leaves, every time he's gotten there just after, finding the papers and pictures and trinkets it's left behind.

  
  


He moves quickly towards his bed, towards the chair he'd left, only to find that it's gone. His mother must have taken it away while he was at the competition. He curses and glances around, looking for a solution, trying to evaluate as the crying gets louder and more intense.

  
  


Blaine's eyes fill with sympathy tears. He can't go to his parents' room now, as they're both in bed asleep, and he knows he doesn't have the time to run downstairs for a chair from the dining room. He takes a deep breath and closes his door, then rushes forward, launching himself onto the table at the end of his bed without thinking. He stretches upwards, fingers reaching towards the swirling light, the warmth. The light is moving faster, spinning and shifting in tone and he can hear a low hum like a tuning fork. And the crying again. More crying.

  
  


“Kurt,” he says aloud, reaching, up on his tip toes now. If only he can make it. If only he can just touch the shifting light he can help. He can get to the voice. The crying. To Kurt. _Please_ , the thinks. _Come on. Please please please._

  


 

And then Blaine is moving. Being sucked up and inside. The light touches his skin: warm, then cool, then so hot it's nearly singeing him. He sucks in a breath and the air is electric – he can taste the particles shifting around him, feel the hum deep in his bones. He feels light and his stomach falls, bottoming out like the sensation of tipping over the highest drop on a roller coaster. And the smell, that familiar scent he's grown so accustomed to over the years, only stronger now. It's the deep, dank scent of mouldering earth and the metallic bite of ozone. Thunder. Lightning. Fire.

  
  


Then he's falling down, down like Alice through the rabbit hole, out of the warmth and the rain smell and the spin, and down. And when he hits, he hits hard.

  
  


There is rustling and something like a gasp when Blaine lifts his dizzy head, wincing at the pain in his elbow, which he's pretty sure collided directly with the cold floor he is lying upon.

  
  


He raises his head only to look into the startled cerulean eyes of the most beautiful boy he has ever seen.

  
  


*~*~*

  
  


When Kurt Hummel is eight years old, his mother dies of uterine cancer that metastasizes to her liver and he cries himself to sleep every night for over a month.

  
  


He hears people say things like:  _at least it was fast_  and  _a minimal amount of suffering_ , and he resolves to never speak to any of those people ever again in his life. His father tries to get him to talk about it, though even at his young age Kurt can tell how much it pains him to bring her up, but he remains stoic in his father's presence.

  
  


The truth is that he blames himself. If he hadn't kept nagging for a sister she would never have gone to the doctor to find out why she wasn't making one, and then maybe none of it would have ever happened. Kurt had just wanted a friend to play with; he didn't know something bad could happen.

  
  


So he waits until he's away from his father to cry about her. He doesn't want his dad to know that is was his fault. Dad is all he has now and he can't lose him, too. He will do everything in his power to make sure his dad keeps loving him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Kurt knows he's different from the other kids. Not just because of their reactions to him, but because most of the time he just doesn't get it. He tries at first, to fit in, to see the attraction in the things that they like, the games they play. But he just doesn't. And they notice. They can tell he is faking it and they mock him for it, along with everything else. Everything that he is, and everything that he isn't. He learns to hide both of these things as often as is possible.

  
  


It starts with snide remarks and whispering behind his back and suddenly he can never find a partner when it's time to work in pairs at school. As time goes on it gets worse: more physical, and the remarks more aggressive, their words more specific, making deeper cuts. He tells himself over and over that he doesn't care as he's shoved around and his belongings are taken and his books and clothes graffitied. He tells himself that the slurs roll off his back like water off a duck. These people don't matter, and some day he'll get away from them, from this place, and he'll do what he loves and love who he wants and he'll meet other people who are different in all of the ways that he is. And then this will all be nothing but a horrible memory. It will all fall away. And it will be okay.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He loses himself in old movies and musicals – the romance and the catchy songs. He takes piano and voice lessons. He knows he's good, but he never sings in front of anyone but his teacher. He only practises when he's sure his dad is away, and his dad never asks any questions.

  
  


He watches Kurt sometimes, his eyes contemplative and a little bit worried, maybe even sad, but he never says a thing. Not about Kurt's extracurricular activities, not about his outstanding grades, and certainly not about the fact that he hasn't brought a friend over to the house since elementary school. He gives Kurt money for anything he could possibly need or want, buys him a fancy car for his sixteenth birthday, and leaves him to his own devices.

  
  


But Kurt knows his father loves him. Hears it in every _bud_ and _kiddo,_ and feels it with every squeeze of his shoulder.

  
  


That gets him through the worst of days. It gets him through the best of them, too.

  
  


When Kurt sits and sings, alone in his room, he feels filled with purpose and buoyed by something he can't see or understand, but craves all the same. He buys soundtracks and original cast recordings and pulls out all of his mother's old albums. He learns every piece of music he can get his hands on, jotting down lyrics and titles and making lists.

  
  


By the time he graduates high school he intends on being prepared. He will have a whole arsenal of music at his disposal for any manner of audition. He will escape this place and never look back.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He's done everything is his power to be invisible lately, and yet they can't just leave him alone. He checks through the house for his dad before trudging down the steps to his basement bedroom and tossing his messenger bag into the corner with a grunt. It slams against the wall and falls, opening and spilling out its contents all over the floor. Kurt lets out a laugh that he soon chokes on, gasping for breath, his eyes prickling with the formation of tears. He hates crying. Sometimes it feels like he's spent the better part of his life doing just that. He walks backwards towards his bed, sitting on the edge when the mattress hits the backs of his knees. He's trembling and lets his face fall forward into his open palms, lets the tears come, lets himself have this moment to break, to cry out the unfairness of the world.

  
  


He hasn't done a thing, hasn't said a thing, and yet they will not leave him alone. The taunting, the names, the slushies, the dumpster tosses – he's so tired of it all. He has never come out and said: _yeah, I like boys_ , has never hinted at it, has never shown the slightest bit of interest in anyone. Hell, he only speaks to people if he has to, and that is a rarity. And yet they still call him the names, still follow him around and egg his car and throw water balloons at his house. They still know. It's not as though he could ever be any threat to them, as small as he is in comparison, not that he would be attracted to a single one of them anyway. As if. He would rather date a gorilla than their bad impersonations of just that.

  
  


He wipes at his eyes and wishes for the thousandth time that someone understood. That he had one single solitary person in his life who he could talk to about his confusion and his pain and his complete and utter exhaustion. But he doesn't. He shies away from people at school to avoid what ends up happening anyway. _There is always Dad_ , a voice at the back of his head keeps telling him, but he can't do that. He promised himself long ago that he would do what he had to do to keep his relationship with his father as simple as possible.

  
  


Just one person who understands. A friend. Is that really so much to ask?

  
  


There is a strange humming sound. It starts out quiet, slowly growing in volume until he can hear it as plain as day. He sits up straight and wipes his eyes. His dad must be home, must be out in the garage working on something – surely that is the sound of some piece of machinery or another.

  
  


The pitch gets higher and he turns towards the sound just as there is a flash of light – a body tumbles down from the ceiling of his room and lands on the floor with a sickening thwack.

  
  


He jumps up from the bed, unsure whether to rush forward in order to offer assistance, or back away and hide. The person who fell looks like a boy about his age, but not like any of the boys he knows. He is small, compact, with wide shoulders and a trim waist. His long feet are bare and his pants are rolled up, showing the jutting bones of his ankles. He groans and turns, half sitting up, and Kurt feels compelled to move toward him. Just a little. Just to see if he's okay.

  
  


He notices the swirling pattern of light above him when he approaches the boy, feels it move his hair like a gentle breeze.

  
  


When the boy looks up, makes eye contact, Kurt lets out an involuntary gasp. He's lovely. His eyes are warm and wide, his lips full and red and soft-looking. Kurt doesn't know what to say, but the boy is just sitting there gaping at him, and he feels as though one of them should say _something_.

  
  


“How did you – Where did you – ?” Kurt stares into the brilliant golden eyes below him, in which he can see the reflection of the flickering light on his ceiling. But the boy, he just continues to stare back with his mouth hanging open.

  
  


Kurt is baffled, shocked, because well, God, a _boy_ just fell out of his _ceiling_ and he can still see it, though it's diminishing, fading out, the colours bleeding and blending into the paint. It's like a sort of portal or vortex, like something out of a movie about superheroes. He's watched a hundred and one of those movies with his father over the years, though he paid more attention to the guys in spandex than the actual plots.

  
  


“I'm Blaine,” the boy says at last, half breathless and cringing, cradling his left elbow in the palm of his right hand. His voice wavers slightly, but is melodious, pleasing to the ear. Everything about him is pleasing to the senses really. If he did fall out of a movie, it must have been an old black and white with courteous gentleman with slick-backed hair and handsome faces.

  
  


“Kurt,” he replies distractedly and the boy's eyes widen.

  
  


“It _is_ you,” he says. “I mean, I recognized your voice, but I mean, you're _Kurt_ –”

  
  


“You recognized my voice? What do you mean? We've never even met before –” Kurt feels panic bubble up inside. What if this is some prank his tormentors cooked up? Although, realistically, a swirling vortex in the ceiling? That might be beyond anyone's ability to manufacture.

  
  


“I know – I've – that thing –” The boy points up without looking. “I've been hearing you for years. But before tonight I couldn't... I couldn't get to you. I wanted to. I –” He looks shy suddenly and shifts, hissing in pain when he jostles his arm.

  
  


Kurt shakes his head, coming to his senses. Okay, there is a strange boy on his floor who just fell out of the ceiling, sure, but he's injured, and that should probably take priority. He leans down and offers a hand. “Let's get you up off the floor and I'll get some ice for your –” He motions to Blaine's elbow and he smiles the slightest bit, nodding, before letting his arm down slowly to his side and taking Kurt's outstretched hand.

  
  


His skin feels pleasantly warm to the touch and sends tingles shooting up Kurt's wrist and down his fingers. Blaine blinks up at him as he's hauled to his feet. After Kurt has helped him over to the bed and he's sitting, he withdraws. He sees Blaine's hand spasm, like it's attempting to reach back out of its own volition. Before Kurt can give in to his own desire and grab for the hand again, he turns on his heel and hurries out of the room with a quick _be right back_ called over his shoulder.

  
  


He chooses a bag of frozen corn instead of an ice pack, since it will mould to the shape of the boy's – Blaine's – elbow much better. He stands and allows himself a moment to breathe, to pull himself together, and then he heads back in the direction of his bedroom.

  
  


“It's gone,” Blaine says when he gets to the bottom of the stairs.

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“The light thingy. It's just gone... again.”

  
  


“You mean you've seen it before?” Kurt comes around the corner and seats himself next to Blaine on the bed, taking his elbow with gentle hands. Blaine winces when the frozen bag comes in contact with his skin and Kurt gives him a sad half-smile.

  
  


“Yeah, I've just started to. I tried to get into it a few times, but it was gone before I got the chance. Pretty sure it's been opening for years though, just not while I was there.”

  
  


“You mean you crawled into that thing on purpose? Why would you do that?”

  
  


Blaine looks down to where Kurt is still holding the bag of corn to his arm and shrugs one shoulder. “I, um... I heard you. Crying I mean. I wanted to – Sorry.”

  
  


Kurt can feel the red as it floods over his face. “I was... I was just...”

  
  


“It's okay,” Blaine says, his eyes as soft as his voice. “I know it's none of my business. It's just that I've heard you so much... I feel like I know you. I wanted... I don't know. It doesn't matter now I guess.” He looks down at his hands. Kurt can see how he tries to hold onto his smile but it fades anyway. He says it doesn't matter, but it very obviously does. Kurt feels a fresh wave of tears tingle at the backs of his eyes. This strange boy, he somehow _cares_ about Kurt. Kurt curls Blaine's arm in closer to his body and shifts the bag of corn into a better position.

  
  


“Where did you come from?” he asks quietly. “I mean, that... thing, where does it lead?”

  
  


“Um... Ohio.”

  
  


Kurt laughs. “Well, fortunately you aren't too far from home then. Or unfortunately if you hate Ohio as much as I do.”

  
  


“We're still in Ohio? Whereabouts?”

  
  


“Lima,” Kurt says with a roll of his eyes. “Yay.”

  
  


“Oh, that's not far at all. I live just outside of Westerville, heading in this direction.”

  
  


_Westerville?_ Kurt wonders if Blaine hit his head as well as his elbow. “Um... where's Westerville? Never heard of it.”

  
  


Blaine scrunches up his face. “How is that possible? It's about ninety miles from here. Not far from Columbus.”

  
  


“Columbus?” Kurt is really beginning to worry about Blaine now. “As in Christopher?”

  
  


“As in the state capital,” Blaine says. “Please tell me you've heard of our state capital.”

  
  


“The capital of Ohio is Cleveland, Blaine,” Kurt says slowly, as though speaking to a child.

  
  


Blaine's brow furrows and he pulls his elbow away from Kurt. “I'm really – Can you google a map? I need to see – ”

  
  


“ _Google_ a map? Blaine, did you hit your head?”

  
  


“What? No. I'm – do you have a map of Ohio anywhere? I just... I need to check something.”

  
  


Kurt nods and gets up, heading towards the contents of his bag which are still spilled all over the floor in the opposite corner. He locates his phone and opens an app, searching up a map of Ohio. He hands it over to Blaine as he sits back on the edge of the bed.

  
  


Blaine studies it for several long moments before looking up with wide, frightened eyes. “This doesn't make any sense, Kurt. Where's Toledo? Why is Columbus called Argentia, and why the hell is the state next door Pennsylvania? It's supposed to be New York! What the hell is Pennsylvania?”

  
  


“No, that's right. It's always been that way, Blaine. Please don't freak out.”

  
  


“Don't freak out?” Blaine's breathing is stuttered and he runs a hand through his hair, pulling it out of its carefully placed arrangement. “Okay... Kurt, what's the capital of the United States of America, and please don't say that's not which country we're currently sitting in.”

  
  


Kurt rests a hand on Blaine's shoulder and tilts his head to one side, trying to smile, trying to calm Blaine down. “Of course we are, Blaine. And the capital is Washington D.C. of course.”

  
  


“Washington – What the heck is _Washington D.C_.?”

  
  


“Okay, wow, I have no idea what to tell you right now, but –”

  
  


“Have you ever heard of alternate realities, Kurt? Like even in science fiction? Because this is – Like, it's similar, but not _right_ and I have no idea where I am right now.”

  
  


“But that's...” Kurt searches for a word that won't offend Blaine, but nothing comes, so he goes for it anyway. “...crazy. It's not possible, Blaine.”

  
  


“Possible like me falling through a tunnel of light that leads from my ceiling and into yours, you mean?”

  
  


“Suppose you've got a point there. But still... How? Why?” Blaine shrugs.

  
  


“I guess we should try to get it back,” Kurt says. “I mean, you don't want to be stuck here, right? It's not like I can drive you home to a place that doesn't exist.”

  
  


“We can try, but from what I've seen, it only shows up when it wants to. I couldn't make it show up before. And believe me, I've tried.”

  
  


Kurt looks down at him, but Blaine is looking away. He wonders why, why Blaine was so interested in finding him, knowing him. He supposes if it had been the other way around, if he had been the one who could hear Blaine, he would have been curious, too. And he wonders why only Blaine could hear him, why the portal of whatever it is only transported sound in one direction.

  
  


He stands up from the bed and pulls a chair under the bit of ceiling where the light had been. Standing on it, he reaches out to touch, only to find a slight buzz and gentle warmth, but the light does not reappear.

  
  


“Should we check upstairs? Maybe the other side of the... it?” he asks.

  
  


Blaine shakes his head. “I've tried that. There was residual heat, but nothing else.” He looks at Kurt like he's interested in the conversation, but something about his tone, or his eyes, tells Kurt that Blaine isn't all that interested in opening the portal. At least not at the moment.

  
  


They trudge up the stairs anyway, and Blaine attempts to help Kurt one-handed as he slides his dad's chair out of the way to feel the floor underneath. And Blaine is right – it's warm, but there is no other indication that anything was ever amiss.

  
  


Kurt pushes the chair back into place and sinks into it. Blaine shrugs and sits down on the couch across from him, still holding his elbow.

  
  


“Is your elbow okay?” Kurt asks, feeling like a jerk for waiting this long. “Do you need a doctor?”

  
  


Blaine shakes his head. “No. It's just bruised I think. It'll be okay in a couple of days.”

  
  


Kurt nods back at him. “I suppose we should get something to eat before my dad gets home. That way I can hide you in my room until we figure out what to do.”

  
  


Kurt waits for Blaine to say something, form some sort of response, but he's too busy staring out of the window. “Blaine?”

  
  


Blaine shakes his head as if to clear it and turns to Kurt. “It was after midnight when I went in,” he says. “And now...” He motions to the dull autumn sunshine that's streaming in through the window.

  
  


“It's not even 5 pm,” Kurt tells him. “That is just so –”

  
  


“Weird,” Blaine finishes. “You can say that again.”

  
  


*

  
  


When Kurt comes back down to his room after eating a mostly silent meal with his father, Blaine is all but passed out on top of his covers.

  
  


“Sorry,” he whispers when he spots Kurt. “I know I'm supposed to be hiding, but it's way past bedtime for me.”

  
  


“It's okay. I told him I was calling it an early night, so he won't bother us. And he always gives three quick raps on the wall at the top of the stairs before coming down. So you'll know it's him.”

  
  


“Three. Okay.” Blaine pauses for a moment before turning his face away. “I'm sorry you have to do this, Kurt.”

  
  


Kurt frowns, standing and staring down at Blaine's prone form. After a moment, he crawls onto the bed and kneels next to him. “I'm not about to send you away to God knows where, Blaine.”

  
  


“Why not? Most people would. Most people would have called the  _police_.”

  
  


Kurt rolls his eyes and reaches out a hand to place on Blaine's back, but thinks better of it a second later and hastily pulls it back before Blaine can take notice of it suspended in the air above him. “I'm not going to call the police. I'm going to help you. We'll figure this out, or else that thing will open up on its own again and you'll be able to go home.”

  
  


“Yeah,” Blaine agrees with a sigh. “You're probably right. I...um... thank you though. I appreciate your not freaking out.”

  
  


Kurt stifles a soft laugh and Blaine smiles up at him. “I'll just move down to the floor... on the far side of the bed just in case your father  _does_  come down here.”

  
  


Kurt stops him with a hand on his shoulder, pulling it away quickly when he realizes what he's done. “You don't have to sleep on the floor, Blaine. I mean – you can if you  _want_ , but not on account of me. I mean – I don't mind if you want to stay up here. And you know, actually be able to sleep.”

  
  


He can't make eye contact after his ramble. Blaine probably thinks he's hitting on him, just like the idiots at school any time he even dares to look them in the eye. And this is so much worse, because he basically just invited Blaine to  _sleep_  with him. What is  _wrong_  with him?

  
  


But Blaine doesn't seem to care. He sits up and pulls down the covers, sliding under them and laying his head on a pillow with a contented sigh. “If you're sure,” he says, voice groggy.

  
  


Kurt just nods like an idiot, staring down at him for a moment before getting up to go change for bed.

  
  


When he climbs in next to Blaine, he's still in the exact same position – on his side, facing in Kurt's direction, knees bent and injured arm curled safely against his body. His breaths are deep and even and Kurt assumes he is asleep.

  
  


He tries to sleep on his right side so that he's facing away from Blaine, but Kurt never sleeps on that side and he's soon turning over, Blaine's sweet, peaceful face only inches away. Kurt's own breathing evens, his heart beats slow until the two of them are in synch.

  
  


“Kurt?” Blaine whispers into the dark of the room, voice raspy, heavy with the beginnings of sleep.

  
  


Kurt startles and his heart picks back up in speed. “Hmm?”

  
  


“I just wanted to say... Your voice...”  _Girly. Fruity. Faggy._  “...is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard in my life.”

  
  


Kurt hopes Blaine is too far gone to make out the tears in his voice when he replies. “Goodnight, Blaine.”

  
  


Just as Kurt is closing his eyes to sleep, he recalls what he'd been wishing for at the moment Blaine fell through the ceiling. But he doesn't dare to hope.

  
  


*~*~*

  
  


It's raining on the first day Kurt leaves Blaine alone to go to school.

  
  


He spends the morning listening to old records on a rickety turntable, the skips and the static making him feel lazy and contented. He hums along, watching fallen raindrops pool outside of the window. He jumps at every sound, worried that Mr. Hummel is going to make a surprise appearance and find him lounging about in his house.

  
  


Mr. Hummel does not, thankfully, make an appearance that day, and Blaine even garners the courage to shuffle upstairs and make himself a quick sandwich at lunch time like Kurt told him he should. He remains completely alone amongst Kurt's things and Kurt's smell until a quarter to four, when the door slams upstairs and Kurt himself tromps down into the basement.

  
  


His face is red and blotchy and his once pristine white jeans and blue shirt and scarf are covered in bright purple dye. Angry tears are streaming from his eyes when he enters the room and tosses his bag on the floor.

  
  


“Oh my God, Kurt, what happened? Are you okay?” Blaine rushes over to meet him, but Kurt backs away from his outstretched hand.

  
  


“Just some idiots. I'm used to it.” Blaine's heart breaks as Kurt swipes at his eyes, turning his head away to try and hide the fact that he's crying.

  
  


Blaine approaches again. “It's okay, Kurt,” he says in a soft voice.

  
  


“No, it's not!” Kurt bites back. “Nothing about this is okay!”

  
  


Blaine shakes his head. “No. I mean, I understand. I meant –”

  
  


“How could you possibly –” Kurt doesn't finish, just shakes his head and turns away, twisting his scarf between his fingers.

  
  


“What I meant was, it was like that for me, at my old school, and then... well, after I, ah...” He clears his throat. Best not to think about that, not now. “Well, afterward, I transferred to a new school with a zero tolerance, no bullying policy and things got better.”

  
  


Kurt flips back to face him, letting out a snort of derision. “Right, because of course such a place exists in magical lala land wherever the hell you came from! Well, not around here!”

  
  


Blaine steps back. He feels as though he's been slapped across the face. Kurt's expression softens almost immediately and fresh tears wash to the fronts of his eyes. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I didn't mean to take it out on you. I – It's just so... unfair and frustrating and so completely –” Kurt's shoulders begin to shake as his voice breaks, tears running over his stained cheeks in long, thin streams.

  
  


“Hurtful,” Blaine finishes for him. He knows. Understands the pain and frustration and feeling of helplessness. He moves towards Kurt and reaches out to lay a hand on his shoulder, trying to let Kurt know that's he's there, he has always been there. “I know. It's okay.”

  
  


Blaine stands there squeezing Kurt's shoulder until he's all cried out. He watches as Kurt gently unties his stained scarf and sighs, his lips turned down as he runs it between his fingers. It's very striking, a strange skull motif, and it's obvious that Kurt is very fond of it. Blaine wishes he could find whoever did this to Kurt and make them pay. “Hey,” he says instead, “do you want some help? I'm pretty good at getting stains out. Lots of practise.”

  
  


Kurt nods a little and lays the scarf over the back of his desk chair. “I, um... I'm going to get in the shower before my dad gets home and sees... I'll toss my clothes outside if you want to try. The shirt is a lost cause, I don't know about the jeans. And my scarf...” He looks back towards it wistfully. “It was my favourite McQueen. Should have known better than to wear it to that place.” His mouth turns down again and Blaine has to stop himself from rushing forward and taking Kurt into his arms. His hands twitch, his body itches with the need to do just that.

  
  


Instead he nods his head and picks it up from where Kurt had laid it. “I'll get it out. Promise. Where's your –”

  
  


Kurt is watching him strangely. Blaine can't quite manage to make out his expression. “Oh,” Kurt answers after a second's pause. “Laundry's that way.” He turns his whole body away to point, chewing on his bottom lip and then making a face when he tastes whatever had been thrown at him. “Everything's in there, in the cabinet above the washer.”

  
  


Blaine nods again. “Okay. I'll get set up while _you_ get cleaned up,” he says, trying to sound cheerful.

  
  


Kurt hesitates on his way to the closet. “I – thank you, Blaine,” he says, voice soft. Blaine smiles and hurries away to the laundry room with Kurt's scarf before he can give in to the urge to embrace him that's come back full force.

  
  


He leaves the scarf soaking and walks towards the closed door of Kurt's bathroom. Steam leaks out from under the door and Blaine can smell something floral and the slightest bit woodsy in the air when he bends down to pick up Kurt's stained clothing. He smiles to himself, taking a deep sniff. Kurt is humming something from within the bathroom. It starts out quiet, but he is soon singing, his voice rising, soaring, breathtaking. Blaine shuts his eyes and leans against the closed door and listens with his entire body, lets the music soak in. When he hears Kurt turn off the shower, he hurries away to the laundry room, eyes damp and nose sniffling.

  
  


Kurt is still quiet after eating and spending some time with his father. He sits with Blaine and watches a movie and does his homework and they prod at the ceiling again, looking for the light. But Blaine knows deep in his heart that the light is gone, at least for now. He can't sense it, can't smell it like he had before, for years. He feels different. He wonders if it is gone and worries about what he will do. Until he looks over at Kurt's sad eyes, and then he worries about something entirely different.

  
  


What if he was with Kurt? Could he protect him? Blaine hadn't been protected by having a friend, but maybe this time would be different. The need to do something burns his insides and crawls up his throat, leaving a lump that he can't seem to swallow away.

  
  


The next day Kurt comes home from school with entirely different clothes than the ones he'd left wearing and Blaine says nothing, just gives in to his urge to hug him. He holds him close for as long as he dares, trying not to nudge his nose against the skin of Kurt's neck and smell.

  
  


They spend the evening halfheartedly researching portals and vortexes and alternate universes, but they meet mostly dead ends. It's all fiction, stories. Nothing makes any sense. Kurt apologizes and Blaine smiles and waves it away and they crawl into bed next to each other like they've been doing it for years.

  
  


“Kurt?”

  
  


“Yeah?”

  
  


“Can we go shopping? Because I kinda used most of your hair gel. It was a pretty tiny little pot.”

  
  


Kurt snorts and has to shove his face into the pillow to mask the sound. “Of course we can.” It's quiet for a moment, Blaine grinning into the dark, happy that he'd made Kurt laugh, and then Kurt speaks up again. “Blaine?”

  
  


“Hmm?”

  
  


“Thank you.”

  
  


“Hey, no problem. I'm here for all of your scarf saving or hugging needs.”

  
  


“Not just – Thanks for being here. I've never – I appreciate it.”

  
  


“I'm so glad I can help, even the smallest bit.” Blaine smiles over at Kurt in the darkness, running his fingertips against the cool sheets between them. He wants to reach out and take his hand, but he doesn't know if it would be welcome.

  
  


“So what's actually under all of that gel anyway? Because you seem kinda desperate about the gel situation and now I'm intrigued.”

  
  


Blaine breathes out a groan and Kurt laughs into his pillow again. “Chaos, Kurt. Pure chaos.”

  
  


“Hair chaos.”

  
  


“Yes. The very worst kind of chaos.”

  
  


Blaine falls asleep that night with a smile on his lips and Kurt's giggles replaying on a loop in his head.

  
  


  
  


*~*~*

  
  


  
  


Since Kurt came home having obviously been slushied for the third day in a row, no matter how hard he'd tried to hide it, Blaine has been continually bringing up the possibility of him accompanying Kurt to school. He'd been subtle at first, just hinting, but Kurt didn't think anything of it because it was an impossibility. But now after three days of his emotional exhaustion being witnessed for the first time, seeing as he hasn't had the chance to get himself together before seeing Blaine like he does with his dad, well, Blaine is outright saying it.

  
  


“There has got to be a way to get me enrolled.”

  
  


Kurt heaves a sigh and sits down next to Blaine on the bed. Even though his dad is working late, they still don't want to chance hanging around upstairs. “Look – there might be, but what's the point? You won't be able to stop people from treating me like – They'll only end up doing all of the same things they do to me to you. And you don't need that, Blaine.”

  
  


“But Kurt, even if that's true, I want to be there with you. The thought of you going through that alone is killing me. And, well, this... situation... might be more permanent than we've been willing to admit. When I was growing up, I heard you, things fell through... I always had some sense of the thing. But I don't anymore, Kurt. It's just... gone. I can't explain it. But I might be here for good. And if that's the case, I'm going to need to graduate from high school.”

  
  


Kurt can't tell if Blaine truly believes what he's saying, or if he's grasping at straws to get Kurt to agree with him about enrolling at McKinley, but either way, Blaine is right. They have to set things in motion. Blaine has been hiding in his room for nearly a week already, and he can't hide there forever. At some point they will slip up and his dad will find out. At some point something will change. And Blaine needs to live his life, even if he's trapped in a strange place.

  
  


“I know just the duo who could manage it,” he tells Blaine. “School records and ID.” Blaine smiles widely and Kurt tries his best to return it. “Now if only I can get them to talk to me without throwing me in a dumpster.”

  
  


Blaine furrows his brow and turns to face Kurt fully, tucking his legs underneath him, and Kurt sighs again and does the same.

  
  


“The mohawked jock, Noah Puckerman, and his brainy sidekick, Artie Abrams. People call them the forger and the hacker. Puck can reproduce any type of ID to perfection, and Artie – his hacking skills are legendary. He can change people's grades, make speeding tickets disappear, you name it. I heard that he even rigged the homecoming elections last year and was paid by Sugar Motta with an entire warehouse full of alcohol. Probably stolen... I think her dad's in the mafia.”

  
  


Blaine's eyebrows shoot up near his hairline. “A  _warehouse_  full?”

  
  


“Yeah. Speaking of which... they're going to expect payment. And with those two... God knows what it might be.” Kurt shakes his head. “But we'll worry about that when we have to. One thing at a time.”

  
  


Serendipity is on Kurt's side, because he spots Puck and Artie hanging out in the parking lot of his favourite coffee shop the next morning, guitars out, singing for loose change and crumpled dollar bills.

  
  


Kurt orders and drinks most of his coffee before deciding how to approach them, half hoping they will be gone before he gets to them and he'll have an excuse to put it off.

  
  


But they're still strumming and crooning when he steps out of the doors. With a sigh, he wanders over, pulling a couple of bills out of his wallet on the way.

  
  


When he leans down to let them drift into the open guitar case next to Artie's wheelchair, Puck stops mid-song. When Kurt looks up, he's glaring down at him.

  
  


“What's up, homo? Hope you don't think you're gettin' a strip tease for that.”

  
  


Kurt narrows his eyes. He should have known better.

  
  


“Be polite, Puckerman,” Artie says in a warning tone. “The boy just paid for our coffee. And they said if you start anything out here again we'll have to find a new spot.”

  
  


“Whatever,” Puck says with a shrug and flips his guitar onto his back. “Look, dude, I appreciate the business and all, just sayin', the Puckster don't show no skin for a measly couple a bucks. You're gonna need to throw at least a...  _twenty_  in there if you want to see my guns.”

  
  


Kurt screws up his face. “Um... I don't want to see your anything. I just need, well, a bit of  _paperwork_ , if you know what I mean...?”

  
  


“Ah,” Artie says, resting an elbow on his chair and stroking his bare chin. “A business proposal.”

  
  


“You're lookin' to hit up Scandals for a man,” Puck says knowingly.

  
  


“No, actually. It's not for me. It's for a friend. He needs, well, a school record.”

  
  


“Like he wants people to think he's a badass?” Puck asks.

  
  


“No. He wants to exist in the system. He's not from here and he wants to enrol at McKinley. So he'll need ID and other documentation.”

  
  


“Why the hell would anyone want to go to McKinley?” Puck asks, but Artie shushes him with a wave of his hand.

  
  


“Okay, that's easy enough. And we ask no questions. We just need names, photos and other pertinent data,” Artie says. Kurt nods and pulls an envelope containing all of Blaine's information out of his bag.

  
  


“He's a good student and he wrote down the classes he'd like to be placed in. There are also headshots and copies of all his ID.”

  
  


Artie flips through with nimble fingers and nods. “This seems to all be in order. Only one other thing.”

  
  


Here it comes, Kurt thinks, waiting to be told what hurdles he'll need to jump through. He hopes all they want is money, because between his bank account and the cash Blaine had in his wallet, they'd be able to cover that easily enough. But things are rarely so cut and dry with these two.

  
  


Artie motions with his head to Puckerman, who bends down. They speak quietly together for several minutes while Kurt stands by and fidgets, hoping he isn't spotted doing business with them in broad daylight.

  
  


“So,” Artie begins once they've finished and Puck is standing straight again, watching Kurt with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “We heard a rumour about you.” Oh God, Kurt thinks, mentally running through the disgustingly long list of lies about him.

  
  


“Yeah, we heard you can sing. That you take lessons with the same vocal coach that used to work with Berry.”

  
  


Kurt is stunned for a moment. He shakes himself out of it. “I, ah... what?”

  
  


“ _Can_ you sing, gay dude?”

  
  


“Um, I can, yes.”

  
  


Artie grins. “Perfect. Then we will do all of this for you, and as payment, you have to join glee club. We're short members and we need to be able to compete at sectionals in two weeks.”

  
  


“Glee club?” Kurt stares at them, baffled. He had been expecting all manner of ridiculous requests, but glee club? Really?

  
  


“Yeah, dude. Don't knock it!” Puckerman retorts, pulling his guitar off his back like he's going to use it as a weapon. “Glee club is surprisingly cool.”

  
  


Kurt puts his hands up in front of him. “I believe you! That's not – I was just surprised is all.”

  
  


Artie shrugs and motions at Puck with his head again and Puck puts down the guitar.

  
  


“So we'll see you in the choir room at 3:15 on Monday,” Artie says. “You know where the choir room is?”

  
  


“Yeah,” Kurt answers.

  
  


“Good, see ya then, pretty boy,” Puck says. “We're out!”

  
  


Kurt backs away slowly as Puck gathers the money in the open guitar case and sets in in Artie's lap before wheeling him away towards a beat up minivan.

  
  


When Kurt gets home that day, he is thankfully still wearing the outfit he put on before leaving. He'd seen Puck out of the corner of his eye in the hallway before classes, and again in the afternoon, and it had almost seemed as though the slushie break may have been due to his machinations. But it couldn't have been; he must have been imagining things.

  
  


Artie had given him the 'things are going along well' nod after their shared fourth period math class, and so Kurt has good news for Blaine when he walks down the stairs into his room.

  
  


But he can't find Blaine anywhere.

  
  


Panic gurgles up inside him, coming out in a teary gasp. Had the light returned? Had the hole opened up? Was Blaine gone? He searches his bed for a note, his nightstand, anywhere.

  
  


“Blaine? Blaine!”

  
  


And Blaine comes stumbling out of Kurt's closet, a feather boa around his neck and shoulders. “Hey!” he says brightly, blowing a feather off his nose. “I got bored so I decided to explore the deep recesses of your enormous closet. You've got some really neat outfits in there!” He pauses for a moment at the stricken look on Kurt's face. “Kurt, what's wrong? Should I not have? I'm really sorry –”

  
  


“No, it's not... I thought you'd gone. I thought it must have –” He motions to the ceiling and makes a spinning motion with his finger. “I'm so relieved.” And he could slap himself for being so selfish. Blaine has a family and friends and a school without bullies. “Not that, I mean, that would be for the best, I mean. If it had. If _you_ had. Been able to go home, I mean.”

  
  


Blaine gives him a weak smile and unwraps the feather boa from around his body.

  
  


Kurt doesn't get the chance to tell Blaine about Artie and Puck until they're in bed. He'd been too frazzled after their conversation to bring it up, and then his dad had gotten chatty after dinner, wanting Kurt to sit with him since he'd mistakenly let slip that he had no homework.

  
  


“And they weren't nearly as horrible as I was expecting, so that's a plus,” he whispers to Blaine. “I mean, there was some name calling, but I'm used to much worse, so...”

  
  


Blaine gives him a commiserating look in the low light of the room, curling in closer and resting a hand on his shoulder. He can feel each point of contact as Blaine's thumb swipes back and forth. It's soothing. He feels his breaths steady and his throat itch with the urge to cry. So few things soothe him. So few people ever touch him in a way that is meant to comfort rather than hurt.

  
  


“Blaine?”

  
  


“Mm?”

  
  


“Are you... like me? I, ah... are you gay... like me?”

  
  


Blaine's thumb stops for a second and Kurt's heart right along with it. He waits for it. The hatred. The rejection. He feels about to choke with it. “Yeah,” Blaine whispers back. “I'm gay.”

  
  


And Kurt does choke. He makes an embarrassing honking sound like some sort of bird and the tears run, unbidden, from his eyes.

  
  


“Hey, what's wrong?” Blaine asks, his voice soft. He moves closer to Kurt and wraps him in a one-armed hug.

  
  


“I nev... I never told any-- anyone before,” Kurt stutters out.

  
  


“No one?” Blaine asks slowly. He holds Kurt tighter and Kurt cries against the side of his neck. He shakes his head.

  
  


“Who would I have to tell? But they know anyway. They call me names – say horrible, perverted things to me, and –” He loses it again, sobbing in earnest, soaking Blaine's borrowed t-shirt through to his skin. He tries to breathe, tries to calm down lest his father hear him and come downstairs.

  
  


Blaine rocks him, whispering all the right things: _It's okay. It'll all be okay_. And even more importantly: _I'm here. I'm here now_. That's the only thing that can quiet him.

  
  


*

  
  


Artie somehow inexplicably gets Kurt's cell phone number and calls him on Saturday morning.

  
  


“It's a go,” he says. “Tell your boy to check in at the office for his schedule, and check in with the Puckzilla in the parking lot for his other important documentation.”

  
  


“Thanks, Artie.”

  
  


“Don't mention it, brotha. Just make sure you show up you know where, you know when and we square.”

  
  


And he disconnects the call.

  
  


Kurt stares at his phone incredulously for a moment before shaking his head.

  
  


“Everything is set,” he tells Blaine. “Besides one thing...”

  
  


Blaine raises an eyebrow in question.

  
  


“You need a wardrobe.” He walks around Blaine, looking him over. “My clothes will work in part, but you need some special pieces that fit you properly. Let's go shopping, seeing as you need that hair gel.” Kurt winks before he can stop himself and he feels like falling through the floor. Where's a good multidimensional portal when you need one? He turns away from Blaine with a roll of his eyes and goes to grab a jacket.

  
  


*

The Lima Mall is not the best place to go searching for a new wardrobe, so Kurt drives out of Lima completely, heading for greener pastures past the, well, green pastures. As they drive, Blaine comments on all of the little things that are different and all of the things that are the same, his voice incredulous but not afraid. Kurt muses that he would be quaking in his boots were their roles reversed. He has no idea how Blaine can stay so calm when he comments on the fact that the street that should lead them to his house doesn't even exist.

  
  


They visit a vintage shop first, one where Kurt has had luck finding many great accessories in the past, as well as quite a few jackets and vests. Blaine all but shouts vintage class, so Kurt is hoping something will catch his eye.

  
  


Many things do.

  
  


Kurt stands by and grins as Blaine flips excitedly through racks of bow ties and hats and scarves and coos over classic saddle shoes. He chooses blazers and pullover knit vests and smart, crisp trousers. Kurt has never had so much fun shopping since he used to do it with his mother as a very young boy, when she would ignore the turned-up noses of the sales ladies and let him clomp around in peep-toe heels while she was shoe shopping.

  
  


He feels like floating he's so happy, sharing something he loves with someone he... well, he's not sure he can put a name on what he feels when he's near Blaine. Safe. Courageous. Cared for. Right. There is none of his usual feeling of displacement, of the jangling, off-centred, off-key otherness he usually feels. Everything feels... _home_. He feels how he always wished he would.

  
  


Blaine pulls a lovely wine coloured velvet smoking jacket from its hanger and holds it up against himself for Kurt to see, eyebrows raised in question. Kurt smiles and fingers the sleeve of it. It's really very lovely.

  
  


“Though I suppose,” Blaine says with a sigh, “it doesn't make much sense to waste money on something like this. I probably won't be here long enough to wear it anyway.”

  
  


Kurt feels his face fall, his smile break apart. He turns away as quickly as he can, hoping Blaine didn't see. He did.

  
  


“Kurt, what's wrong?”

  
  


Kurt shakes his head and tries to surreptitiously clear the lump from his throat. “Nothing. I, um... I'm not sure about that colour on you is all. We should, um, we should try something else.” It's a lie. It's the most perfect colour ever against the golden hint of Blaine's skin. But he bites his lip and pulls out a white button-up from a nearby rack. “This might be more versatile,” he says. He has to force out every word.

  
  


Next to the vintage clothing store there is a tiny, dusty looking book shop that Kurt has never paid attention to before. Everything in the window is faded and nondescript, even the pale caramel cat which sleeps in amongst the books in a patch of muted sunshine. Blaine looks over at Kurt and shrugs his shoulders, motioning to the door. Kurt tells him he'll meet him inside once he's placed all of their purchases in the car.

  
  


Once inside, he finds Blaine near the back, staring open-mouthed at a beat up old book with yellowing pages.

  
  


“What did ya find?” Kurt asks jovially. He runs his fingers over the rainbow of broken book spines lining the shelf directly in front of them. When Blaine doesn't answer, Kurt glances back and the smile he was sporting slowly slides from his face, leaving him with an expression much like the one worn by Blaine – pure shock and bewilderment.

  
  


On the dust cover of the book is a drawing – rings of light in a circular pattern above a room, and something like a wormhole, connecting the first room to another similar one, though it is upside down like... “Wonderland,” Kurt whispers. Wide-eyed, Blaine nods in return.

  
  


“I was just flipping through the new age section and I – It was just _there_.”

  
  


Kurt studies the book in Blaine's hand. It's tilted up slightly because Blaine has his thumb stuffed inside, holding a page. It's entitled: _Soul Connectors,_ and written by someone with many letters after his name. “What does it –” he begins, just as Blaine flips the book back open and cuts him off, his voice high and excited.

  
  


“Listen to this,” he says, holding it under his nose. Kurt comes up behind him and looks down over his shoulder, trying to pay attention to the words rather than the adorable way Blaine traces them across the page with his fingertip.

“ _There are infinite realities beyond the one in which we exist. Strong connections through time and space and through these numerous realities are rare, but not unheard of. There are those who travel through these boundaries and make contact with their soul connections._ ”

  
  


“But what does that even mean?” Kurt reaches down and stops Blaine's wandering fingers, pushing them gently out of the way so he can read the passage again. He doesn't notice that as he's focused on the book, he hooks his chin over Blaine's shoulder. He doesn't notice until he feels the weight of Blaine's body lean back into him. His heart is racing in his chest and he takes a deep breath, hoping Blaine can't feel the bird-like fluttering of it against his back.

  
  


“There are a bunch of instances where people seem to have travelled here from somewhere else like I did,” Blaine replies. Kurt can feel the vibration of Blaine's words against his body. He shuts his eyes for half a second and tells himself not to lean down and take a sniff of Blaine's exposed neck like his brain keeps directing him to do. “And it theorizes that some of your world's missing persons are people who have gone on to another reality.

  
  


“Okay, here's one – _Gertrude Oliver was a young girl living in Glasgow in 1843. For years she inexplicably found love letters pressed into books along with dried flowers, only for a young man in strangely patterned military attire to turn up one day and profess his undying love and devotion to her, saying he was from a hundred years in the future. After a round of evaluations by a team of highly respected doctors, he was found to be of sound mind. A month later he and Gertrude married, and they went on to have seven children. He was said to have been an odd man, often singing songs yet unheard of whilst in the company of friends and family_.

  
  


“Where's Glasgow?” Blaine asks.

  
  


“In Scotland.” Kurt can practically feel the confusion in Blaine's posture. “That's in the United Kingdom. I really need to give you some geography lessons before unleashing you on the teachers at McKinley,” he tries to joke.

  
  


Blaine turns his head slightly, trying to look Kurt in the eye. Kurt can see him in his peripheral vision, but he can't stop staring at the book. What did it all mean? Why had Blaine fallen through _his_ ceiling? Surely it didn't mean –

  
  


  
  


  
  


“I didn't tell you but, um... when I was about fourteen, I found a sheet of stationary with writing on it – song lyrics I think, but it was nothing I had ever heard tell of and I couldn't find any trace of the lyrics anywhere I looked. But, I, they were in your handwriting. I know that now. And after, for years after, there were other things –”

  
  


“And you heard me, you said. Heard my voice.”

  
  


Kurt can feel Blaine's nod against the side of his face. He reaches around Blaine's waist and up towards the book, his fingers joining Blaine's to flip through the worn pages.

  
  


“ _It's like some sort of glitch in the fabric of the universe,” Dr. Mason says of the phenomenon. “Two parts of a soul scattered across time and space, across worlds where they cannot reach each other. But there is no force so powerful as a human soul, and they find a way. They literally punch a hole through the fabric of the universe itself in order to find the missing piece of which they are in need.”_

  
  


“Blaine? So are we –” Kurt begins. He lets go of the book and pulls away slightly, lifts his chin from Blaine's shoulder.

  
  


“I don't – I'm going to buy this book, okay? We'll just – Let's read the book.” Blaine shuts the book, running his hand over the cover once before turning and plastering his face with a smile that Kurt knows in his heart is fake. Is Blaine upset by what the book seems to be telling them, or is he simply filled with confusion the way Kurt is? Kurt doesn't know what to say to him, so he nods his head and follows him to the front of the shop.

  
  


They stop and pick up something to eat on the way home and cloister themselves in Kurt's room, trying on outfits and singing Beatles' songs to each other. They don't pick up the book from where Blaine had placed it on the nightstand. It's like they have an unspoken agreement that it is for later. Neither of them quite wants to deal with it yet, they just want to be for a little while.

  
  


They collapse on Kurt's bed, Blaine's head dangerously close to Kurt's pounding heart, and finish their song with heavy eyes and mumbling lips. Kurt feels a puff of air leave Blaine's mouth as his last note dies and he giggles to himself, letting his eyes drift closed. Just a cat nap, he tells himself. They've had a long day.

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


Blaine wakes up feeling pleasantly warm and content, wrapped up in something soft and yet firm that smells better than anything in the world.  _Kurt_. He allows himself a moment to bask in the feeling, lets a smile spread lazily over his face and his nose nuzzle in just the slightest bit. Kurt is holding him tight in strong arms, pressing Blaine's head firmly against his broad chest, his fingers tangled in Blaine's hair.

  
  


He's been trying to figure out some way to stay, and at the same time figure out how to get home. He wants his family, but he's beginning to suspect that he wants,  _needs,_  Kurt even more. And if that book holds any water at all...

  
  


A sound comes from above. A throat clearing.

  
  


Blaine's eyes fly open and he removes his head from Kurt's chest. Kurt grumbles and tries to pull him back, fingers tugging his hair. When Blaine makes eye contact with the owner of the throat that was just being loudly cleared, he hears Kurt gasp from next to him.

  
  


“Dad! I, ah, I –”

  
  


“Kurt, I think you need to come upstairs with me. Now.”

  
  


Burt Hummel looks like a stern man, not to be trifled with. Blaine swallows audibly and makes a wobbly attempt at sitting up while Kurt scrambles off the bed next to him. He gives Blaine one last longing, terrified look over his shoulder as he follows his father toward the stairs. Blaine hears the mumbled beginnings of their conversation before the door at the top of the stairs is shut firmly behind them.

  
  


He paces the room, wall to wall, door to closet to bathroom and back again. He sits on the chair. He sits on the floor. He sits on the bottom step. He avoids the still rumpled bed.

  
  


Every once in a while he can make out Burt Hummel's deep, rumbling voice as it rises in volume, and Kurt's higher one. He wishes he could hear what they're saying, and at the same time he's relieved that he can't decipher a word. He's terrified for Kurt. He knows what it's like to have an unsupportive father, especially when vulnerable, especially when confessing something that you know he is not going to like.

  
  


It feels like years before Kurt is finally descending the staircase. Blaine hasn't heard a single peep from either Kurt or his father in quite a while by that point.

  
  


Kurt's eyes are red and puffy but he's wearing a crooked smile. He shrugs at Blaine when he stands and rushes up to him.

  
  


“He says you can stay. But in the guest room upstairs. I had to – I had to lie and tell him your parents kicked you out when they found out you're gay... sorry.” Kurt is gnawing on his bottom lip now and Blaine feels a churning in his stomach at the thought of his parents. They would never have done that, no matter how much they disapproved. No matter how much they tried and wished and thought things would change. He knew they still loved him. They just weren't always the warmest people.

  
  


“I, um... he... he thought you were my boyfriend. I didn't tell him otherwise. We talked about it, about my being gay and he says he loves me, so...” Kurt's eyes fill with fresh tears and he smiles that slightly wonky smile again, his chin quivering. “Anyway, you can stay with us, but he said I'm too young to be living with my boyfriend, so you have to move upstairs.” Kurt's face grows red and he laughs a little, enough to make Blaine grin.

  
  


“Thank you, Kurt. I know how hard that must have been for you, and it was because of me that –”

  
  


“No, I'm glad. Really. I mostly just feel relieved. Like I was carrying around this huge stone and someone lifted it off my back finally.... I can breathe. So... he gave me some money to redecorate your new room and he also says you need a cellphone, so I guess we're going shopping again.”

  
  


Blaine lets himself laugh this time, because Kurt looks the most carefree Blaine has ever seen him.

  
  


Ensconced in the guest room for the next two nights, Blaine barely sleeps. On Sunday he can't take it anymore. He has to go to school in the morning; he needs sleep. And in order to get it, well, he's pretty sure what he needs is Kurt. And so he tiptoes out of the guest room and down the stairs to the basement.

  
  


“Blaine?” Kurt asks as he approaches the bed. He sounds alert, not even the slightest bit drowsy and Blaine wonders if he's been having trouble sleeping as well. “What's wrong?”

  
  


Blaine perches on the edge of the mattress and peers at Kurt in the dark. “I, um, I can't sleep.”

  
  


“Nervous about school tomorrow? Look, I know I've said some pretty scary things about that place, but it'll be okay.”

  
  


Blaine shakes his head. “No, it's not that. I just... I feel like... It's stupid, but upstairs just now, and last night, it felt like the farthest I'd ever been away from you at night since I was seven years old.”

  
  


Kurt is silent for a moment and then he flips the corner of the blankets back and scooches over. “Come on in then.”

  
  


“But, your dad, he said –”

  
  


“Did you shut your bedroom door before coming down here?”

  
  


“Yeah.”

  
  


“Then it'll be fine. He's not gonna peek in on you or anything. And if he comes down here, I'll just tell him you had a bad dream or something. It'll be fine, Blaine.”

  
  


It's much easier to sleep after that, wrapped in the shared body heat and Kurt's scent and the rise and fall of his breaths.

  
  


*

  
  


On Monday morning, Kurt lurks outside of the office while Blaine checks in with the principal, an odd man who asks him all manner of nonsensical questions, including whether or not he's ever been a member of a devil worshipping cult that sacrifices badgers and exotic monkeys. He doesn't say one word about Blaine's forged school records or his ID, which he'd been given in the parking lot only minutes before by a guy who called himself  _Puckzilla_  and was a little heavy on the brofist.

  
  


Classes are mostly boring, though Blaine has a few slip-ups in history class, so he's glad he shares that period with Kurt, who nudges him and shakes his head ever so slightly, pointing at his notes when Blaine gets called upon by the teacher.

  
  


All in all, he's glad when the day is through and Kurt meets him at his locker. “Now it's just glee,” Kurt says with a groan. “You don't have to come with me if you don't want to, you know. They only specified that  _I_  needed to join.”

  
  


Blaine rolls his eyes. “Kurt, you only made that deal with them for me, and besides, I loved glee club at my old school. It'll be fun!” He throws Kurt a wide grin and bumps their shoulders together.

  
  


“If you say so,” Kurt mock grumbles and Blaine, feeling bold, hooks their arms together as they walk down the hall towards the choir room.

  
  


When they enter the room, there is chaos.

  
  


“How do we know he can even sing?” says a tiny girl with dark hair in a strident tone. “Just because someone takes voice lessons doesn't mean they have talent. We should just get a band guy to sway in the back. There are more than enough of you to back up my vocals.”

  
  


“I kill you!” shrieks a girl in a cheerleader's uniform, and a tall blond guy and another cheerleader hold her back as she attempts to lunge at the tiny brunette.

  
  


“Guys! Guys!” says the man at the front, the man who Blaine assumes is meant to be in charge of this rabble. “Quiet down!”

  
  


The cacophony of voices dies down to a low murmur and Blaine rests a comforting hand on Kurt's arm.

  
  


“Now,” the teacher continues. “Puck and Artie were good enough to recruit us some new members, so let's show them a little respect, all right? Show them that we are a family in this room, not a collection of zoo animals.”

  
  


“I hear dat,” says a guy in a wheelchair. From Kurt's description, this must be Artie, the one who hacked the district archives and created Blaine's student profile.

  
  


“Now, guys, would you like to introduce yourselves?” The teacher motions for them to step into the centre of the room.

  
  


“I'm Kurt Hummel,” Kurt begins. He turns his gaze on the brunette girl who accused him of not being able to sing and narrows his eyes. “And I  _do_  take vocal lessons and I  _can_  sing.”

  
  


Blaine stifles a chuckle in his sleeve and smiles up at Kurt. “I'm Blaine Anderson,” he says. “I just moved here from...”

  
  


“Argentia,” Kurt whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

  
  


“Argentia.”

  
  


“Isn't that the place with the big sun flag that we're not supposed to cry for because Madonna said so?” a blonde in a cheerleader uniform asks in a flat monotone. No one bothers to answer her.

  
  


“Mr. Schue, in the spirit of fairness,” the tiny brunette says, “I have to insist that these boys audition. Seeing as we all had to do the same. We have no idea if they can even sing.”

  
  


“Rachel –”

  
  


“If  _I_  had to audition, why shouldn't they? It's only right.” She nudges a bored looking, hulking guy in the seat next to her and he nods vigorously.

  
  


“Fine. Do you fellas mind singing us a little something?” The teacher, Mr. Schue asks.

  
  


Blaine shrugs and looks over at Kurt. “Beatles?”

  
  


They decide on  _The Long and Winding Road_ , because it seems appropriate and they both know the lyrics, with the added bonus of their having sung it together over the weekend. They sit down next to each other on the piano bench and get ready to begin. Their fingers bump and stumble and Blaine smiles at the flush he can see on Kurt's cheeks.

  
  


When Kurt starts in on the first verse, Blaine's breath catches in his throat. He remembers hearing Kurt sing this song, it feels like a lifetime ago.

  
  


_The wild and windy night that the rain washed away  
Has left a pool of tears, crying for the day  
Why leave me standing here, let me know the way  
Many times I've been alone and many times I've cried  
Anyway you'll never know the many ways I've tried  
And still they lead me back to the long and winding road  
You left me standing here a long, long time ago  
Don't leave me waiting here, lead me to your door_

  
  


The room is silent for a moment after the music dies, and then the group erupts in a chorus of cheers and applause around them.

  
  


“Wow, guys!” Mr. Schue says enthusiastically, clapping his hands together, a broad grin on his face. “That was fantastic! Welcome to the club!”

  
  


“Yeah dudes,” Puckzilla adds in. “Welcome to our motley crew.”

  
  


A smiley Asian guy gives Blaine thumbs up and the blond who was holding back the cheerleader earlier starts trying to speak loudly in a British accent from the top riser.

  
  


The brunette girl, who Mr. Schue called Rachel, comes over with a smile as if to congratulate them. “It's really fortuitous timing on your part you know, Blaine Anderson, because we are about to begin our annual duet competition, and being my partner, well, let's just say it's a highly coveted spot.” She tries to play coy, fluttering her eyelashes and holding a hand over her heart.

  
  


“Rachel, I'm your boyfriend and I'm sitting right here,” says the tall guy with the vacant expression whom she had just been sitting beside.

  
  


She ignores him and continues to look up at Blaine with wide, slightly manic eyes. “Um... I'm flattered, but no thanks. I've already got the best duet partner.” He motions to Kurt, who is watching Rachel with a look of pure loathing.

  
  


“Leave him alone, Berry,” says another girl as she walks up from behind. She puts herself between Blaine and Rachel and extends a hand first to Blaine, and then Kurt. “I'm Mercedes Jones, and you boys killed that song.”

  
  


They go out for coffee after glee club with Mercedes Jones and her boyfriend, the blond guy who was doing all the accents, whose name is Sam Evans. They discuss past duet competitions, which as it turns out was just one, since the club only formed the year before. Apparently they've lost a couple of members due to moves and disinterest, and one to Coach Sue Sylvester, who Blaine doesn't know but whose very name causes the others to share wide-eyed looks around the table, as though speaking it might invoke the actual coach and have her appear in the middle of the coffee shop.

  
  


Mercedes tells them that Mr. Schue, for some reason, believes that making them all compete against one another makes for a stronger team, though all of her eye rolling seems to indicate that she believes otherwise.

  
  


“What we need,” she says, “is to beat Berry and that big idiot Finn Hudson. Mr. Schue always gives them everything.”

  
  


Later on at home, Kurt drags out books full of sheet music to find them the perfect song to do just that.

  
  


After a couple of hours and many impromptu singalongs, they decide on  _You Can't Hurry Love_  because, as Kurt says, you can never go wrong with Diana Ross. Blaine can't really argue with that; he's just glad that Kurt chose something that he actually knows.

  
  


They start work on choreography right away, laughing and falling all over each other until Burt gets home from work and Blaine follows Kurt into the kitchen to help make dinner.

  
  


They tell Burt all about glee club while they eat, the craziness and their triumphant duet and their potential new friends. Blaine finds himself doing most of the talking, noticing after he sees Kurt smiling at him in a strange way he hasn't noticed before. Burt is eyeing him oddly as well, but not unkindly, just the slightest bit contemplative.

  
  


They do their homework in the living room while Burt watches the news and then excuse themselves to run through their duet a few more times before bed. Burt is still up and watching football when Blaine heads to bed, and he sighs. He'll have to wait hours before he can slip downstairs to Kurt and actually manage to sleep.

  
  


As he's shifting and thrashing around in his blankets for the twentieth time, he realizes he forgot to brush his teeth and slides out of bed, grateful for the distraction.

  
  


He hears low voices coming from down the hall. Kurt laughs a little at whatever his father is saying and Blaine leans against the wall in the hallway. Something about hearing Kurt laugh makes Blaine feel so serene...

  
  


“I like him,” Burt says then. “Blaine. He seems like a good kid.”

  
  


“I like him, too,” Kurt says, sounding shy. “He's important to me.”

  
  


“I know he is, bud. You know he can stay here as long as he needs to. I just don't get parents like that. How they can abandon their own flesh and blood... and a nice kid like Blaine. Makes me so mad. You know, maybe you should get me in touch with them, Kurt. I have a few choice words...”

  
  


Blaine doesn't stick around to hear any of Burt's choice words. He should help Kurt out of the sticky situation instead of making him lie to his father again, but he can't bring himself to do it. The mention of his parents makes guilt spread thick and hot through his insides. He hasn't been thinking about them, hasn't been worrying, wondering if  _they_  are worrying. And the worst thing is – he's not sure if he would choose to leave and go back to them now if he had the chance. He loves them, he does, but he feels as though he  _needs_  Kurt. And he's been thumbing through the book he picked up and if what it says is true... He's  _meant_  to be here with Kurt.

  
  


But he may never see them again. His parents, his brother...

  
  


He falls asleep curled in a ball, wanting his family the way he'd so often wanted Kurt throughout his childhood.

  
  


*

  
  


His mother is calling his name in the distance. She sounds frantic, like she had when he'd hidden in amongst the racks of clothing at a department store when he was five, thinking it would be a funny trick to play. He still remembers the guilt he'd felt afterwards, when he'd seen her fear, her tears so real as she tried to chastise him around her relief and her vice-like embrace.

  
  


The sound of her voice is receding. He tries to call out to her, but his own voice leaves him -- his throat closing up and his mouth feeling stuffed with something thick and sweet like molasses.

  
  


His brother, Cooper is there in front of him, smiling in his usual way: cocky, self-assured. “What's the matter, Blainey?” he asks. “Cat got your tongue?”

  
  


And then Cooper is also gone, replaced by Mr. Whiskers, their childhood pet. He'd died when Blaine was seven, only a week after Cooper had moved out to California the minute he had received his high school diploma.

  
  


Mr. Whiskers meows and turns, tail swishing, and Blaine reaches out to pick him up, but is beaten to it by his father. His father scoops the cat up in his arms, only all he holds afterwards is a box. “Nothing lasts forever, Blaine,” he says with a look that is half care, half scold. “It's a hard lesson to learn, I know. But you will learn it.”

  
  


“Dad!” he finally manages, spitting out the treacly substance from his mouth. “Dad!” But his father has vanished. He can hear his mother again, crying, crying the way she had as she held his hand in the hospital when he'd been beaten up after a dance. “I'll find you a new school,” she'd promised. “I'll never send you back to that place. Never.”

  
  


“Mom!” He sobs as her voice fades away, pressing his face into something soft, though there is nothing in the space he occupies. He's floating. Everything is black and bare. “Mom!”

  
  


He startles awake. Someone is petting his hair, shushing him quietly. He thinks for a moment that it's her, but the smell is all wrong, and yet familiar. “It's okay, Blaine.”  _Kurt_.

  
  


Blaine rolls over, burying his face in the crook of Kurt's neck and sobbing for all he's worth, his fingers clinging for dear life, scrabbling over Kurt's pyjama shirt.

  
  


“We'll get you home to them,” Kurt says, his voice wet. “We'll find a way.”

  
  


Once Blaine has calmed, once his sobs have faded into the occasional sniffle, he leans back and looks up into Kurt's face. His eyes are closed softly, but his expression is pained – his lips tight and his chin wobbly.

  
  


“I've been reading the book,” Blaine whispers. “Every instance, every story, the person who travelled from their own reality, they never went back where they came from, Kurt. They never can.”

  
  


“Never can or choose not to?” Kurt asks, eyes still shut. “You could still –”

  
  


“But that's just it,” Blaine answers. “If I had the choice I don't think – I don't  _know_. Kurt –”

  
  


Kurt's eyes are open now. He slides a hand up Blaine's arm and shoulder and rests it against his jaw, cups it there, his thumb stroking slowly back and forth. The moonlight is shining through the slats in the blinds, making patterns on his face. His eyes flutter closed and when they reopen they look different. Settled maybe. Determined.

  
  


Kurt leans in, cupping Blaine's face more firmly. He presses their lips together. It's just the slightest, sweetest bit of pressure, the tiniest smacking sound and then he's gone before Blaine has had the chance to breathe him in, before he's had the chance to return the kiss.

  
  


“Sorry,” Kurt says, pulling back. “We should – We should try and get some sleep.”

  
  


Blaine doesn't want to ponder what exactly Kurt is sorry for. The situation, or the kiss itself? Blaine hopes it isn't the latter, because that might just break him.

  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


The duet competition starts two days later. Rachel and her boyfriend, Finn go first, and though Rachel's vocals are stunning, Finn's leave something to be desired in Kurt's opinion. Mr. Schue seems to disagree, however, and congratulates them both on a job well done while the rest of the group roll their eyes in unison.

  
  


Kurt and Blaine are up after Mercedes and Sam, who do an adorable, flirty rendition of  _Under the Boardwalk_  that has everyone cheering. 

  
  


It ends up going perfectly. They hit every note, their choreography goes off without a hitch, and the way Blaine is looking at Kurt afterwards, well, it has him a bit weak in the knees. Blaine has been a little standoffish since Kurt had jumped the gun and kissed him after he'd had the nightmare about his parents, and now he's not sure all of his eggshell-walking was even necessary. Blaine's smile is brilliant. The glee club are on their feet all around them. Kurt feels transcendent. Blaine snuggles into his side, doing a half-bow and bringing Kurt with him. Sam and Mike Chang whistle from the back of the room and Artie rolls over to give him a high-five. And Kurt thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might have actual  _friends_.

  
  


The entire group votes and they win by two points. Unfortunately, Mr. Schue refuses to change the set list for sectionals, even though there is much protestation within the choir room, angry voices arguing that the duo who won the duet competition should be given the duet at sectionals. It's to no avail.

  
  


Mercedes, Sam and Artie rant about it later at dinner. Kurt hasn't been to Breadstix in years, and he finds that the décor hasn't been updated since his dad took him there to celebrate his starting high school.

  
  


“It's all right, guys,” Blaine tells them. “Thanks for sticking up for us, but we are new to the group. I can understand that it's not really fair.”

  
  


Blaine smiles over at Kurt with a little shrug, and Kurt feels Blaine's fingers trail lightly over the top of his hand under the table just as Mercedes speaks up again. “What's not fair is Berry and Hudson getting every solo in every competition since the dawn of damn time. We're all tired of this crap.”

  
  


“Yeah, dudes,” Sam agrees. “It's totally not fair. And Artie is a way better singer than Finn.”

  
  


“That I am,” Artie says with a nod. “And so are you gentlemen. But alas, Mr. Schue plays favourites and he is unfortunately the boss of us.”

  
  


By the time they've finished with dessert and are waiting for the cheque, Blaine's hand has completely enveloped Kurt's and Kurt sits stock still, worried that if he moves the hand will be withdrawn.

  
  


At home they run through the sectionals songs that they were given by Mr. Schue before lying next to each other on Kurt's bed. Blaine grabs  _Soul Connectors_  off of the nightstand and they curl in close and read together for a while.

  
  


Kurt is half expecting a solution to their problem to show up on every page, but nothing ever does. It's just more of the same: first-hand accounts, opinions of scholars, rudimentary science attempting to explain. It does nothing but give him a sharp pain between his eyes and makes him feel the slightest bit nauseous. If the book is to be believed, Blaine is connected to him. If the book is to be believed, they are parts of the same soul.

  
  


Blaine pauses in his reading, noticing that Kurt has stopped. He tilts his head to one side, his face partially smushed into the pillow beneath his head, and Kurt can't help but smile at him. He places the bookmark inside to save their page and tosses the book aside, turning over to face Kurt fully. Kurt raises an eyebrow in question.

  
  


“Will you kiss me again?” Blaine asks, voice quiet, eyes earnest, open.

  
  


Kurt feels his hands begin to shake, his smile go the tiniest bit off-kilter. “I, ah.. well,  _you_  could kiss  _me_  this time... if you wanted...”

  
  


Blaine bites his lip before leaning in, a half smile playing about his mouth. It feels electric when Blaine kisses him, like something opens up and buzzes deep in the recesses of his brain, shocking his lips, his synapses. Blaine tastes sweet like the cheesecake they'd shared at Breadstix, and smells minty and musky and so, so good. Kurt can't help but slide his hands into Blaine's hair, tangle his fingers in the thickness, breaking apart the careful placement. Blaine doesn't seem to mind, moaning lowly and inching closer to Kurt's body. He tilts his face, deepening the kiss, and Kurt opens his mouth, feeling Blaine's tongue prod against his lips and slip inside, brushing light yet firm against Kurt's own.

  
  


It's Kurt's turn to moan. It vibrates from his throat and makes their tongues press more firmly together. Blaine breathes heavily through his nose, his arms sliding down and around Kurt's body, pulling them flush together. Kurt feels as though he's losing control of himself; his senses are taking over completely and he's pushing Blaine back as Blaine pulls him forward, his weight pressing Blaine's body into the mattress. He takes over their kiss, sucking Blaine's bottom lip into his mouth, and then his top one, and then both of them together. He pries Blaine's mouth open with his tongue and slips it inside, in and out as Blaine moans underneath him. He feels the stutter of Blaine's hips as he strains upwards and all Kurt can think to do is push back with his own hips, all he can think is how badly he needs to feel every inch of Blaine's body with his own.

  
  


Kurt startles when he hears a familiar three sharp raps on the wall at the top of the stairs. He rolls off of Blaine and sprawls across the bed, unable to move any further. Luckily his dad doesn't venture down the stairs. “I'm going to bed,” he calls down. “You fellas don't stay up too late! You got school in the mornin'!”

  
  


“Okay, Dad!” Kurt calls back, hoping his voice didn't sound too quivery.

  
  


Blaine doesn't bother going up to his room that night. They fall asleep with their hands clasped, their bodies curled towards each other, heads down, in the shape of a heart.

  
  


  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  


  
  


The morning of the sectionals competition comes quickly. They get up late and there is a mad scramble, Blaine nearly forgetting his tie and Kurt having to double back for him to retrieve it. Blaine feels an odd sense of déjà vu as he rushes down the basement stairs and grabs it from in amongst Kurt's bedding, still unmade and half hanging on the floor.

  
  


They get on the bus with only moments to spare, ushered in by a harried looking Mr. Schuester and a tiny lady with enormous eyes and a clip board. Mr. Schue calls her Emma and tells her their names, which she checks off of her list before following them onto the bus.

  
  


On board they see Finn Hudson sitting with a woman who is attempting to straighten his tie.

  
  


“Mom, it's fine! Seriously!” he complains, but she just smiles fondly at him. Blaine can hear Mr. Schue thank her for coming along as an extra pair of eyes as he walks to the back to sit across the aisle from Mercedes and Sam.

  
  


They win.

  
  


Someone brings confetti and Mr. Schue tries to scold them for throwing it all over the bus, but it's obvious that he's too happy and proud to really care. The adults sit up by the driver while the club gathers near the back, talking through their performance and discussing their dream numbers to perform at regionals in the spring. Blaine looks over at Kurt, deep in conversation with Rachel, whom he has just discovered is a big Broadway fan like himself, and he feels content. He reaches out and threads their fingers together, breathing a sigh of relief when no one says a word about it.

  
  


They have something of a party at Rachel's house, drinking Shirley Temples out of curly straws and munching on healthy snacks. By the time they're ready to head home, Blaine is exhausted, though it's barely nine o'clock.

  
  


Settling in on Kurt's bed, Blaine takes Kurt's hand in his again. He loves this, holding hands, loves the way their fingers slot together, the way Kurt squeezes just slightly, and how it's like a signal for Blaine to squeeze back. He likes the idea that maybe someday, once they've been together for a longer while, they might be able to concoct some sort of system of signals this way, like Morse code that only the two of them will understand.

  
  


“I'm okay with it,” he says to Kurt after a few quiet minutes. Kurt turns and regards him, eyebrows raised. “With not being able to go back. We've been reading the book and there's nothing –”

  
  


“I'm sorry, Blaine.” Kurt rolls over onto his side and holds their clasped hands up to his face. He kisses Blaine gently on the knuckles before nuzzling against his hand. “I feel so selfish in all this. I want you here.”

  
  


Blaine nods and gives Kurt a reassuring smile. “I want me here, too. Don't feel selfish. I won't pretend that never seeing my family again doesn't kill me, because yeah, it hurts and God, I'll miss them. But I'm – The alternative? Leaving here and never seeing  _you_  again? The only trace of you being your voice through my ceiling – a song, a cry... I couldn't bear that, Kurt. I – I love you. I love you so much.” He knows it's the complete and utter truth as the words leave his mouth. He's known it since he first saw Kurt looking down at him. Maybe even before ever seeing him.

  
  


Blaine pulls their joined hands towards him and places a kiss on the back of Kurt's before holding them both to his heart. He hears Kurt's breath hitch, feels his warmth as he moves closer. “I love you, too, Blaine,” he whispers, then leans in to press their lips together.

  
  


The first thing Blaine notices is the smell. He goes from pressing his nose into Kurt's clavicle, smelling his cologne and the Kurt-ness that lies underneath, to noticing that old, familiar scent. Dank. Metallic. Thunder.

  
  


Next it's the heat and the low hum. He looks at Kurt before glancing over his shoulder to where he knows it will be, and he can see it reflected there, the swirling light in Kurt's wide, terrified eyes.

  
  


“I'm not going, Kurt,” he says, firm. “I'm not.”

  
  


Kurt shakes his head and turns in the direction of the humming light. “Are you sure? Your parents... They must be...”

  
  


“I know. Maybe... I can write them a letter. Let them know I'm all right.” Kurt just sits and stares at the light and doesn't reply.

  
  


Blaine is quick as he grabs a sheet of Kurt's stationary and a pen and writes out his goodbye, his regrets, his love. He tells them he is happy, that he's met his soulmate, that he's been in love with Kurt for years.

  
  


He folds it up and slips it into an envelope and scribbles  _Mom & Dad_ on the outside. Kurt gets up with him as he approaches the light, takes his hand as he outstretches it, the letter in a loose grasp between both of their hands.

  
  


“Are you really, really sure?” Kurt asks, voice trembling.

  
  


“I'm really, really sure.”

  
  


They hold the letter higher, closer to the light, the motion of the swirling mass ruffling their hair. “Ready?” Blaine asks and Kurt nods, and they hold it up even higher, standing on tiptoes now.

  
  


It happens quickly, the rush, the tug, and they're completely at its mercy. Kurt lets out a strangled shout and clings to Blaine. Blaine thinks he hears him say  _No, Dad_ , and then they're being sucked inside the spin and the heat and the rain.

  
  


They land in a heap on the hardwood floor of a bright room that Blaine does not recognize, the portal closing, circling away into nothing on the crisp white ceiling above.

  
  


“Blaine?” Kurt says from beneath him, and Blaine moves and helps him into sitting position. “Is this your room?”

  
  


Blaine shakes his head, looking around. He sees something strange, a picture frame sitting on a high shelf. It looks like the two of them, Kurt wearing a crown of some kind. “I've never seen this place before in my life,” he answers.

  
  


“Boys?” calls a voice from the hall outside. There are loud clunking footsteps carrying it nearer. Burt Hummel opens the bedroom door and gives them a searching look. “Where the heck have you two been? I get home from Washington and you're just gone. And so I call Blaine's mom, and she has no idea either! I swear I thought the two of you had run off to New York to elope like you were talkin' about at dinner last week.”

  
  


Burt gives Kurt a look and Kurt shrugs his shoulders, trying to smile. “That was a... joke?” He plasters his face with a grin.

  
  


“Uh huh. Sure it was,” Burt says, shaking his head. “Anyway, boys, answer your damn phones, would ya? You had us all worried.”

  
  


“Sorry, Burt,” Blaine says, trying to shift over so he's less on top of Kurt. “We got distracted and forgot.”

  
  


“Distracted, yeah. Like I don't know what that's code for.”

  
  


“Dad!” Kurt says, red-faced and scandalized. Burt chuckles and waves away Kurt's protest.

  
  


“Anyway, dinner soon, guys. Fix yourselves up or whatever.” He closes the door and clomps back down the hall.

  
  


“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Kurt asks, straightening his clothes, eyes darting around the unfamiliar room. “Where are we and why is my dad here?”

  
  


“I think he's here because this is your house, Kurt. And this is your room.”

  
  


“Why would you –”

  
  


Blaine motions to the shelves. “Because there's a picture of us right there. And next to it, one of you and your mom. One that fell through the portal not long before I did.”

  
  


They get up and study the framed photos that line the shelves, and the photograph that Blaine recognized as Kurt and his mom is indeed the same one he'd found on the bottom of his bed not long ago. If he removes it from the frame, he's sure he will find Kurt's childish scrawl on the back with the words  _Kurt and Mom_.

  
  


“Do you think she's – ” Kurt begins, just as a cellphone begins to ring, its vibrations pushing it around on the floor next to where they had just fallen.

  
  


“Should I answer that?” Blaine wonders out loud. The phone seems familiar to him, so he bends down and picks it up. The name MOM is flashing across the screen.

  
  


“Um, hello?”

  
  


“Blaine Devon Anderson, where have you been?”

  
  


“Mom?”

  
  


“Two days!”

  
  


“Two days?”

  
  


“You know I don't mind if you stay over at Kurt's, but have the decency to call or at least leave a note! I got home from Columbus and you were nowhere to be found. And then to top it all off, Burt called me and he didn't know where you were either! Charge your phone, Blaine, for goodness sake!”

  
  


“Yes, Mom. I'm really sorry. I just got caught up with glee club and, you know...”

  
  


“Yes, I realize your competition is soon and you've been practising around the clock. As long as I know you're okay... Just don't do it again.”

  
  


“I am and I'm sorry. I'll call you later, okay?”

  
  


“Sure dear. I love you.”

  
  


Blaine sucks in a breath and tries to inaudibly clear his throat. That is something he'd never expected to hear from his mother ever again. “I love you too, Mommy.”

  
  


“Mommy, huh? You do feel guilty,” she answers with a laugh. “I'll see you later, sweetie.”

  
  


Blaine ends the call with a smile and wipes at his eyes. Kurt is watching him, a serene expression on his face, holding the framed photo of the two of them in suits. It looks like a posed photo from a prom.

  
  


And then it hits him.

  
  


“Columbus!”

  
  


“What?” Kurt comes towards him, brow furrowed.

  
  


“Columbus. My mom said she just got back from Columbus. But it didn't exist in your... reality.”

  
  


They locate a laptop and guess at the password – McQueen – and open up the search engine, which Blaine is happy to find is Google. They search through maps – the state, the town, the county, the country – some things are as they were in Blaine's reality, some the same as in Kurt's. It's like the two have literally been melded together into one.

  
  


A quick knock sounds on the door and it's pushed open. Finn Hudson sticks his head in and his eyes flit around guiltily. “Hey, um... I don't know why you guys missed glee practice, but I won't rat you out to Burt. But, um, I need to tell you, Kurt, that Rachel's taking over your solo for sectionals, since you missed two rehearsals in a row. Sorry about that, little bro!” He pops back out of the room before Kurt can answer. He's just sitting on the bed next to Blaine, mouth hanging open.

  
  


“Did that just happen? What the hell is he –”

  
  


A lady pops up in the spot Finn had just vacated. Blaine recognizes her from the bus to sectionals; she's Finn's mother. “I convinced your dad to take us all out to Breadstix for dinner, boys! Get ready, okay?” she says with a bright smile then leaves, just like her son.

  
  


They can hear Finn exclaim, “Breadstix, woohoo!” from another part of the house.

  
  


“Your dad, he was wearing a wedding band,” Blaine says to the still shell-shocked looking Kurt. “And so was she.”

  
  


“Oh my God. Oh my God, my dad is married to Mrs. Hudson.”

  
  


“But that's good, right?” Blaine takes his hand and runs his thumb rhythmically over Kurt's knuckles. “You said you worried about him being lonely.”

  
  


“It is, but this is just – ”

  
  


Kurt's eyes are sweeping over the room. He looks confused and exhausted and maybe a little relieved. But that might be Blaine projecting his own feelings onto Kurt, because that's what he feels. Relief. Sure they are in a strange place again, but they're together, and he gets to keep his family this way. And Kurt, he has more family, and they seem so happy. Blaine wonders what happened to the places they had been before and if they are missing there, or if maybe they've ceased to exist altogether. The book had in no way prepared him for this scenario. But he supposes, unless the portal comes back again, there is no way he will ever know for sure. Though if another version of the pair of them turns up from wherever they've been for two days, they'll be in for trouble.

  
  


“Kurt?” Blaine asks, and Kurt swings his still sweeping eyes Blaine's way. “I love you.”

  
  


Kurt's tense shoulders relax and he slumps forward against Blaine's side. “I love you, too,” he says, and he smiles. Blaine leans in for a kiss and they quickly forget about their new surroundings.

  
  


Until they hear a throat being cleared from the doorway.

  
  


“Well come on, boys. I can see you're about to get  _distracted_  again, but we got to go,” Burt says, a smile in his voice.

  
  


“Oh my God, Dad!” Kurt is red-faced as he clambers off the bed.

  
  


Burt chuckles, Blaine right along with him.

  
  


Mrs. Hudson comes up from behind and kisses Burt on the shoulder. “Oh, leave them alone, Burt. They're young and in love.”

  
  


“Oh yeah, well I'm old and in love, but being in love don't make me any less hungry. So let's go get some lousy, overpriced pasta!” Burt chuckles again as Mrs. Hudson swats him playfully on the arm and they turn away from Kurt's room.

  
  


“Are you in the mood for some lousy, overpriced pasta?” Kurt deadpans.

  
  


“With you? Always.”

  
  


 

 


End file.
